


if you're watching this, i'm so sorry

by midwinter_stars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Buckle in bitches, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, also gonna end horribly, gonna end well, little hanamaki siblings, shoving your boyfriend in a closet, technically the archive warning is misleading.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwinter_stars/pseuds/midwinter_stars
Summary: When a Shinigami dies, it means that the purpose it was kept for has been fulfilled- and in this case, a subclass of ancient Shinigami, known and discovered by one boy- the Shīkensu- the sequential gods of Death.Only one Shīkensu exists at a time; hell knows who the very first was. The singular Shīkensu can only rest in peace when their job is completed: whoever the last person they saw before death was is their next victim. Once that last person is killed, they are the next Shīkensu, and the cycle begins anew.From Hanamaki Takahiro, to Matsukawa Issei.The new sequence begins.





	if you're watching this, i'm so sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Hey.
> 
> I promise I have undead in the works. I'm not abandoning it.
> 
> But, I accidentally got into BNHA, and boy, is it one hell of a ride. 
> 
> So bear with me, I guess? Undead isn't... 'dead'.
> 
> And this? 
> 
> This is probably what you'd consider a tragic mystery.

_My name is Hanamaki Takahiro, and if you’re watching this, I’m already dead._

  
The bus hits an uncomfortable _bump_ , jarring Issei from an unpleasant half-slumber.

  
_It’s not your fault. It’s not even mine. There was an accident._

  
He presses his head against the cold, foggy window, squinting to make some semblance of the road outside the vehicle. His seat is freezing. His seat is so fucking _empty_.

  
_I’m going to tell you what happened. I’m going to make sure this doesn’t happen to you, too-_

  
With a screeching, screaming noise, the bus jolts to a halt, and it’s a moment before Matsukawa realizes they must be at school right about now.

  
He yawns, using one hand to cover his mouth; there’s a collective murmur as students begin to stir from their half-assed naps in the unfriendly seating.

  
_And I’m telling you this, first of all:_

  
He stands, pressing his earbuds in a little further before he swings his bag over his shoulder and steps into the aisle. No one needs to talk to him. No one _should_ be talking to him.

  
_You need to get out of here._

  
His footsteps are heavy on the thick sidewalk, trudging along dutifully towards a school full of classes he know he won’t pass anymore. Not after this. Not after all that’s happened. It’s only a matter of time before he starts slipping, isn’t it?

  
When was the last time he rode the bus, anyways? Before he started volleyball, probably. The start of his first year. Third years look shady when they ride the bus. His appearance doesn’t help him. He must look like a mess. A tired, red-eyed mess. A druggie- or maybe a stalker.

  
He wishes, sometimes, that he had died before high school.

  
_“Y’know, I do really wonder what happens when you die.”_

_  
He turns to Hanamaki with confusion; to the boy who had stars in his eyes, laying on the grass to look at the stars from his backyard._

_  
“We’re not dying anytime soon.”_

_“I’m saying, though. Theoretically.”_

_  
Matsukawa hums to himself, putting his hands behind his head as he picks out constellations from between the clouds; then to watching that head of strawberry-blonde hair, moving ever so slightly in the wind._

  
_“I mean… does it hurt? Do you remember anything?”_

_“Why’re you bringing it up now, of all times?”_

_“Why can’t I?”_

_“‘Cause it’s super depressing.”_

_  
There’s a short silence._

_  
“Like… is there even something after death? Maybe it’s just empty space. Maybe you live out your memories.”_

_“Wouldn’t know unless you tried.” It earns him an elbow in the ribs._

_  
“Take it seriously,” Hanamaki groans, smacking Matsukawa lightly in the chest; he grunts out, tugging at a strand of ginger hair._

_  
“Maybe there is a God.”_

_  
“I guess.”_

_  
“You’re no_ fun _.”_

_“Don’t gotta be. I’ll be alive forever.”_

_  
“...Dude, I wouldn’t want to live forever. I mean, I’d want to die someday. It’d be boring. Being immortal.” Then he stops, swallowing roughly._

_  
“You ever wonder what would happen if we died tomorrow?”_

_  
“Don’t say that,” Matsukawa says, closing his eyes._

_“For real. Would… would anyone even remember?_

_“I’d remember,” he responds, glancing back towards the clouds drifting across the moon._

_“I’d want you to remember.”_

_“Well, it’s good you’re not dying anytime soon.”_

_  
Hanamaki looks at him briefly, almost as if in question; but then, he rolls on top of the shaggy-haired boy while garnering a startled noise. Takahiro flops across his boyfriend’s body, stretching._

_  
“Get off,” Matsukawa mumbles light-heartedly, pushing at Hanamaki, and the latter rolls back over with a comical noise before laying face-first in the grass._

_  
“Dude. You probably landed in dog shit.”_

_“I pick up my dog’s shit, you weenie. Gross.”_

_  
Issei smiles, and Hanamaki smiles back, and everything is just so fucking_ perfect _._

  
He passes through hallways and corridors of unfamiliar people without looking back.

  
“Mattsun~!”

  
He doesn’t turn at the voice, or at the fingers slipping into his; he turns when the hand squeezes his, glaring down at Oikawa with tired, sad-looking eyes. Tooru only smiles, and Matsukawa lowers his head, staring at the laces in his shoes as his semi-captain walks beside him. Tooru has always been like that. Tooru has always been there and been clingy and been _perfect_ , and right now, Matsukawa doesn’t _like_ it, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull away. There’s something _missing_ , and Oikawa’s smile feels foreign and unfriendly.

  
It has been two and a half days since that Sunday- since that horrible incident, the news stories, the video footage, the school assembly, since the volleyball team had their first time off in what felt like decades.

  
It is Wednesday, and it has been two and a half days since Hanamaki Takahiro died.

  
_I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t even be at school, should I? I look so insensitive. Like I don’t care._ He muses silently to himself. _He does, too. Walking around with a smile on his face. Is he sad? I know we were more Hajime’s friends than his, but- but… Iwaizumi isn’t here, and surely he’s at least reason enough for Oikawa to leave- he’s mourning. Why aren’t I?_

  
Studies, he tells himself gravely.

  
Oikawa, gratefully, says nothing to the sour laugh that breaks from Issei’s throat. Yeah. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in bed. He should be in bed, scheduled for counseling and medication, because this week has really fucked his whole life over. His mom isn’t home, so by default and rule he isn’t allowed to stay, either- because his mother never really _liked_ Hanamaki, and his father can only text him from halfway across Japan. He’s ignored every bit of help that’s come his way. Holding Oikawa’s hand must make him look like he’s trying to move on too quick. Makes him look like an apathetic asshole.

  
_Takahiro is fucking_ dead _. Deal with it. You can’t go back._

 _  
No, no, no. No, that’s not right. That’s not_ right _._

  
His eyes feel dry. He isn’t sure when the last time he talked was- he’s talked to maybe… his mom, to tell her what he wanted for dinner or what was wrong. He hasn’t gone to practice in what… two days? He probably wouldn’t go back. Oikawa hasn’t asked- either he knows, or is just expecting Matsukawa to get on with it by himself.

  
“Oikawa.”

  
“Huh?”

  
Matsukawa’s never hated those brown eyes before. He’s never actually been annoyed by them, so he turns his gaze away and focuses on the hard floor. He doesn’t miss Oikawa’s soft sigh, and the pressure against his hand, and the glint of hazel eyes as they fall to the floor.

  
“Need to stop at my locker,” he announces monotonously, footsteps moving along like a machine. His own voice is uncomfortably grating to his ears.

  
So they do just that, Oikawa’s hand feeling alien in his own, yet strangely… comforting. He deposits his textbooks. Takes out his History notebook.

  
He thinks, that maybe- just maybe, if he’d chosen to show up at Takahiro’s front door that morning, or _something_ , he’d still be alive. But no- weekends were his dad’s. And weekends were a hundred miles away. A text, perhaps? But he’d tried. He tells himself, he _tried_.

  
And Takahiro was still _dead_.

  
Oikawa walks him to their History class, lets his hand go to take a seat at his own desk; he pats Mattsun firmly on the back, and he jolts in discomfort.

  
When he settles back for his desk, he pauses.

  
He sets his items down; the bustle of the class ignores him. He can feel Tooru’s eyes on his back. There’s a thin, yellow package on his desk with nothing but the name “ISSEI” spelled in shaky, hastily-drawn letters. Looks like a grade schooler’s handwriting. His heart wrenches at the prospect of it being one of the younger Hanamaki siblings, and he cuts at his lip with his teeth until he tastes blood.

  
When the bell rings, and the announcements are playing over the intercom, he rips it open silently with one finger, sliding the contents out onto the surface of the schooldesk.

  
A DVD case with a disc within falls out with a soft clatter, barely audible above the din. The clear front reveals the absolutely plain-looking circle with a select few words written across its front. He shoves it in the front of his bag after reading it, biting down on his cheek while ignoring Tooru’s concerned, curious look altogether.

  
_For Matsukawa Issei,_

_From Hanamaki Takahiro._

_1 of 5._

  
He hisses quietly, cursing to himself.

  
_I was never going to make it through_.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hanamaki doesn't have a good relationship with his dad. 
> 
> They really don't see each other, and he's the primary caretaker of his little siblings (twin sisters- they're about 6).
> 
> He doesn't want to let anyone know. He doesn't have to, either, because all it's going to do is worry people. People will try to stop it- people will try to get in the way, and they'll get killed.
> 
> He has to enjoy the time he has; he has to be with those he loves before his time is up. He doesn't need to scare them- he doesn't need to frighten anyone, but he needs to tell the person he knows he'll be seeing last.
> 
> He needs to warn Issei about what's coming.


End file.
